


Heaven and Hell

by sparrowswing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Cross-Generation Relationship, First Time, M/M, One Shot, Oral Sex, Overused trope, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-War, Rimming, Scar Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 03:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10982778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowswing/pseuds/sparrowswing
Summary: After the war, Harry and Severus are sent to a safe house while the remaining Death Eaters are rounded up and sent to Azkaban.  As time passes, they grow bored and start looking for new ways to pass the time.  They find one that works remarkably well.





	Heaven and Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I've had this for a decade. Guess I should get around to actually posting some of the stuff collecting virtual dust on my hard drive.

If we were still working toward defeating my former master, I could certainly understand forcing us together in this hovel, possibly with the far-fetched intention of having the brat actually learn something under my tutelage. As it stands, however, the Dark Lord has been defeated - due mostly to Potter's seemingly endless supply of dumb luck - and there is really no reason our paths should ever have to cross again. Yet here I am, sharing a ridiculously small, one-bedroom cottage with the boy - a cottage with wards that prevent all but the most basic magic, a cottage far removed from anything resembling civilization, a cottage with poor heating and only a single bed. This is Hell.

~*~

He's sitting there, staring out the window, as if the dreary landscape will suddenly offer up the secrets of the universe, as if he's not been locked up for the past month with a man he hates, with no idea when he might be released. It shouldn't be so horrible, this forced cohabitation, but our very beings seem to be adversely attuned in such a way that every little thing the other says or does grates on our nerves. Or perhaps it's just me.

He's been sitting there for more than an hour, and he's barely moved, except to fidget or bite his lip. Even the way those pristine white teeth nibble at his cherry lips drives me to distraction. It infuriates me, the way his every movement catches my attention, rips me from whatever I was doing so that I stare uselessly at him. Is this what it's like to be one of his mindless fans? I do hope this illness is not progressive; I'm already in Hell.

~*~

Bored, he says. Like he hasn't been here two months, staring out that bloody window, waiting for someone to lift the wards and release us. Of course he's bored. As my potions ingredients ran out a week ago, and I've read every book in this hovel, so am I.

~*~

"Checkmate." He doesn't seem surprised. And why should he be? He's never won a game of chess against me. I am a spy, a master strategist, and he has spent his life being strung along, given only enough information to get himself into trouble. He's the perfect pawn; what does he know of strategy?

He's staring at me speculatively over the chessboard, watching me in much the same way I watch an experimental potion: curious; cautious; desperately wanting to poke at it, to see how it responds; fully expecting an explosion at any moment, and prepared for just such an event. "I heard you, you know." I feign ignorance and raise an eyebrow, questioning while still daring him to continue. "In the shower this morning, and last night when you thought I was sleeping. It's not the first time either." There's a definite challenge in his eyes.

"It is a physical requirement, nothing more."

"Bollocks!" He leans over the table, coming within inches of me. "A physical requirement, as you put it, would leave you stroking one off as quickly as possible. No, this was drawn out, enjoyed. And you said my name."

"Our forced cohabitation has ensured there is no one else to capture my attention."

"So I've captured your attention then?"

"You've captured the attention of everyone you've ever met, Potter. I daresay it's a skill you work very hard at maintaining."

He's angry now, glaring at me with such ferocity that even without my skill in Legilimency I'd be able to feel him projecting his thoughts. "Fine. You want to spend the rest of our time here, however long that is, fighting... I can do that. I've been fighting with one person or another my entire bloody life; what's a little more?" He sits back and crosses his arms, turning his glare to the window instead. "I just thought we might be able to find something more enjoyable to do with our time."

I have to admit, my interest is piqued. Is he really offering...? No, this is Potter. Surely this is just another way of baiting me. I choose to ignore his last statement and stand, going to the nearest bookshelf and retrieving a book I've read three times since coming here. At this rate, I'll have it memorized by the time we leave. If we leave...

~*~

He's been in the bathroom quite a long time. Normally I ignore this; if the brat wants to waste an hour every day performing the simple task of bathing, who am I to complain? It's an hour I don't have to spend listening to him complain about his boredom. But he's been showing more and more signs of depression lately, and this is not the first time I've wondered if he might be suicidal. Well, I've always thought he was suicidal, just because of the stunts he pulled while in school. But this is different. Even now he could be in there, slicing his wrists with the blade from my razor, or drowning in bath water, or taking a combination of potions that will react violently with each other and kill him. No, he doesn't know enough about potions for that last to be a legitimate concern, but...

I knock at the door but receive no response. Calling his name achieves the same result. Now I truly am worried. Turning the doorknob, I realize it's not even locked. Surely he would have locked the door...

I stand there in the doorway, hand still on the doorknob, entranced by the sight before me. A cloud of steam is billowing all around him, swirling through the room with an almost dreamlike quality. Water is sluicing over his body in the most enchanting way. His head is thrown back, his hands working in tandem as he brings himself off. It's gorgeous, and I want nothing more than to take those last few steps and join him. I close my eyes to fight off the mental images assaulting me, and when I open them again, he's standing right in front of me, his eyes locked with mine. "I was wondering when you were going to come looking for me."

I don't even have time to answer. Suddenly there's a wet, naked Gryffindor pressing against me, cherry lips caressing my own, hands tangling in my hair. He turns a bit, putting his back to the door frame and pulling me tight against him. I should fight it, I know. But the reasons for that seem to be getting further and further from my grasp. He arches against me and makes a strangled sound low in his throat, and immediately I'm lost.

If I am truly destined to spend eternity in Hell, I might as well earn it.

I respond to the kiss forcefully, taking the control he seems so desperate to give up. My hands slide down his sides to his hips, gripping them roughly, prying another moan from those sinfully red lips. He brings a leg up to wrap around me, and I find myself lifting him by his thighs, pressing him against the doorjamb and grinding our erections together. The friction is exquisite but not quite the sensation I'm seeking. "You're overdressed," he gasps. If the brat is capable of such observations, I am clearly failing at my task. And he is correct.

I pull away from the doorway, clutching his thighs and using his weight to throw our balance in the direction of the bed. I'm sure if we had more than ten feet to go, I would have had trouble carrying him like that, but for once I'm glad this cottage is smaller than my quarters at Hogwarts. I drop him onto the bed and watch him predatorily as he slides up to lay his head on the pillow. He watches intently as I begin the process of disrobing. The buttons seem to fascinate him, though I have no idea why they would. Perhaps it is a result of the same attention deficit that makes him so hopeless in my class. Or perhaps it is because he has never seen so much of me bared to the light.

I manage to remove everything but my trousers when his impatience gets the best of him. He crawls to the end of the bed and then slides to the floor. His eyes linger on the placket of my trousers for a moment, then he licks his lips and looks up at me over the rim of his glasses. "Can I?" he asks. Part of me wants to berate him for asking such an inadequate question. Another part of me really wants to give him free reign and see just how far he is willing to go. Is there really anything that would occur to a boy his age that I _wouldn't_ be willing to at least attempt? My mind is still running rampant with the possibilities when I nod silently and he moves forward.

His hands slide slowly up my thighs, those emerald eyes still locked with mine. Upon reaching bare skin he stops, lowering his eyes to the task at hand. He licks his lips again and I wonder if it is anticipation, nervousness, or some other emotion. He opens the placket of my trousers with only the slightest hesitation - three cheers for Gryffindor bravery - and lowers them, along with my pants, to the floor, where I kick them in the general direction of my other clothes. 

He stares forward in much the same way a small bird would stare at a snake moments before it strikes. The thought is enough to make me smirk. Then he slides his hand along the length of me and steals my smirk in a rush of pleasure and long-denied need. Leaning forward, he breathes across me, drawing my breath out in a sigh. He glances up for a moment and then moves that last fraction of an inch, darting his tongue out and licking me from base to tip. I can't stop myself from reaching out and carding my fingers through his hair, holding his head in place as he takes another swipe with his tongue, more slowly this time.

He seems to be gaining courage - or perhaps simply new ideas - as he progresses. He wraps a hand around the base of me while those ruby lips stretch around the head. His mouth is wet and wonderfully warm as he slides further down the shaft. He can't take me all; at halfway he stops, his throat muscles spasming as if he's about to choke. It doesn't matter; the sensations are magnificent, despite his lack of skill, and he only bobs his head a few times before I have to tighten my grip in his hair and pull him off me for fear of ending the night far too soon. I use that grip to pull him to his feet, claiming his mouth with another bruising kiss, before spinning him and shoving him face-first onto the bed. I climb onto it as well, kneeling above him and surveying the supple flesh spread before me.

The boy has had a rather rough life, and between an abusive family, years of Quidditch, and being on the front lines of a war, he has earned quite a few scars. Kneeling there, I find myself overwhelmed with a desire to touch and taste each one. There are few people in this world who can understand what this young man has been through in his short life; surely, being one of them, I should use the knowledge to worship his body in the way it deserves. I start at the back of his neck, kissing my way down his spine, detouring only to kiss, lick, and bite at the scars scattered across his back and sides. Some of the scars seem sensitive, and I make a mental note to explore them further, should the opportunity arise.

Finally I reach the delectable globes of his arse. I push his thighs apart and run my tongue along his crevice, stopping to swirl it around his pucker. It takes a bit of effort to push my tongue past that tight ring of muscle, confirming my suspicions that he's never bottomed before. I wonder if it's his first time with a man, or perhaps his first time with anyone, and the mere thought sends a thrill along my spine. I work my tongue in and out of him, but I know I'll need more than just saliva if I want to avoid hurting him. His strangled moans and inarticulate cries morph into pleas.

I withdraw my tongue and begin kissing my way back up his spine. When I reach his neck, I lick a long line to his ear, nipping it before asking, "Please what?"

He arches back against me, nearly overwhelming my good intentions. Merlin, how I'd love to simply plunge into him right this moment. "I want... Nnngg... _need_... Please!"

"What do you want?" I suck lightly at his neck. "What do you need?"

He makes more unintelligible noises before gasping, "You! Want you... inside me. Please..."

I can't help but groan at the sound of him begging so prettily. I turn his head to the side and kiss him soundly before muttering, "Wait here." I can see the confusion in his eyes, but I really don't want to explain that I have nothing in the bedroom to use for lubricant. It honestly never occurred to me that I might need it while the two of us stayed here. I quickly go to the next room and dig through my potions until I find something suitable. There are other potions that would be better suited for one's first time, but I'm certainly not going to take the time to brew them right now. With my luck the brat would change his mind moments before I finished brewing, wasting both my ingredients and my time.

When I return to the bedroom, he is sitting up, watching me. I hold up the vial, and he blushes a rather alarming shade of scarlet. Oh no, he's going to change his mind anyway. Damn it!

"Can we, um..." I hold my breath. Again, part of me wants to scold him for leaving off the most important part of a question, but mostly I'm afraid of what he's about to ask. Can we stop? Can we go back to hating each other? Can we pretend this never happened? "Can we do it facing each other? I want to see you."

I blink. That certainly wasn't what I was expecting. Once again I find myself nodding wordlessly. He smiles and lies back against the pillow. "Wait." He stops completely, not even breathing as I remove the pillow from under his head. I gesture toward his hips. "Lift up." Realization dawns and he braces his feet and raises his hips with a smile. I slide the pillow in place and position myself between his legs. He props himself on his elbows and watches me while I cover two fingers in the potion. I make eye contact as I move those fingers to his pucker, circling it several times to spread the potion before slipping the tip of one inside. His breath catches, but there's no indication that it hurts. Yet.

I take my time preparing him, working the muscles with my fingers until I am nearly mad with desire. I am so caught up in the moment that I have trouble unstoppering the vial long enough to coat my quivering arousal in the potion. I recap the vial and toss it aside, thankful it doesn't break but not particularly caring.

I position myself and take a moment to look in his eyes. I fear I am far beyond the point of no return, but I have to be sure this is what he wants. Finding no hint of trepidation, I begin slowly pushing forward. Even with all the preparation, it is a tight fit. Each time he gasps I stop to give him time to acclimate to the intrusion. He's so damned tight, I need the extra time simply to avoid embarrassing myself. Surely I can last longer than someone half my age. Can't I?

It seems to take forever to sheath myself completely, and the tight heat wrapped around me is the most exquisite torture. I know I said that this is Hell, but I fear I may need to amend that statement. Surely this must be Heaven. I hold myself as still as possible, hoping the pain is receding for him, hoping my next movement won't bring an abrupt end to what has thus far been a delightful experience. I'd never live it down if I came on the first stroke.

He shifts beneath me, biting his lip and moving his hips experimentally. The movement is slight but it sends a wave of pleasure through me that steals my breath for a moment. This is it: I am fucking Harry Potter. The Saviour of the Wizarding World. Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor. I must have been a saint in a previous life; I sure as Hell never did anything in this one to deserve this.

A hand moves up and cards through my hair, resting at my neck for a moment before pulling me into a searing kiss. "Please move," he gasps. I fight the pleasure as I pull back, and I fight the urge to pound him into the mattress as I push slowly back in. He's had time to adjust, but this is still a new experience for him; I want him to feel every inch. And if I fuck him the way I want to, this will all be over in mere moments. Bloody buggering _fuck_ , where's all the control I worked so hard to maintain over the last twenty years!? Why must this insufferable brat tear away all my defenses?

He's arching his hips now, meeting my thrusts. I've increased my speed and force without even realizing it, but he certainly doesn't seem to mind. The one hand is still wrapped around the back of my neck, holding on tightly, while the other arm is wrapped around my side, the hand holding my shoulder so tightly his fingernails are drawing blood. His legs are wrapped high enough around my chest that his knee and elbow touch with each thrust. His eyes are squeezed shut, and while a brief mental image of him in a blindfold during sex is quite appealing, right now I want his eyes open. "Look at me!" My voice is a husky growl, and he responds with a gasp, his eyes opening and then widening almost comically at whatever he sees in my own.

"God... I can't... Sev'rus!" I slide my hands under his shoulders, gaining leverage so I can fuck him harder. He makes a strangled moan and the fingernails buried in my shoulder move a bit. In response, I sink my teeth into his shoulder. I don't bite hard, barely hard enough to draw blood, but that seems to be the final straw for the boy. With a shout he tenses and spurts hotly between us. His walls clamp down around me almost painfully, but I manage a few more strokes before letting myself go. I grit my teeth to avoid saying anything embarrassing during my moment of release, but I know I can't hold back a throaty groan.

Well, I did get him to come without a single touch to his cock, so I suppose a little noise on my part can be excused.

I pull out of him and allow myself to collapse next to him. He curls into me, an arm across my chest and a leg tangled with mine. He _would_ be one to cuddle, I suppose. But it does feel remarkably natural to slide my arm around him and pull him against my chest. I know we should get dressed; someone from the Order could arrive at any time to announce that the Death Eaters are all either dead or safely locked away in Azkaban. But to acknowledge that would be to acknowledge how easily this sudden... liaison... could end. A few hours ago, that would have been fine, preferable even, but now that I've had a taste of the forbidden fruit, I really don't know if I can so easily give it up.

I feel eyelashes fluttering against my skin. The brat must be returning from his post-orgasmic haze. He lifts his head and smiles up at me. Then his eyes fall to my shoulder, widening with panic. "Oh, God! I hurt you! You're bleeding."

He tries to get up out of bed, probably to find a healing salve or something similarly heroic but unnecessary, but I lock my arm around his shoulders and his leg between mine. "Let it heal on its own."

"But it could scar."

"I hope it does."

He frowns. "Why would you want another scar?"

"Think of it as a badge of honor. Something to remind me of this night." His mouth opens in a small "oh" and I can help but shift enough to kiss him. "Besides, you weren't the only one to draw blood." I dip my fingertip in the blood pooling at the bite on his shoulder. He winces slightly, but when he sees the tiny drop of blood he smirks, leaning forward and licking it from my finger seductively. "I hope you aren't trying to seduce me. I'm an old man; I can't be ready at the drop of a hat."

"Mmmm... well, I suppose I'll just have to suck you until you're ready again, even if it takes all night."

"Insufferable brat."

"Snarky bastard."

I bite his lip in retaliation and then sooth it with my tongue. The kiss deepens but remains slow and luxurious. With a sigh I pull away. "Get some sleep, brat." He positively _purrs_ with contentment and curls back into me, letting his eyes fall closed once again. I pull the covers over us both.

Sure, I've been condemned to Hell, but I think my little glimpse of Heaven can get me through. And who knows, maybe he won't wake up full of regret; maybe he'll want to stay with me, see where this goes. Maybe when we leave this hovel, I can take Heaven with me. Maybe...


End file.
